


Fish, Flies and Showerheads

by krazykitkat



Category: West Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-20
Updated: 2011-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-15 19:48:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krazykitkat/pseuds/krazykitkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You said we weren't having sex."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fish, Flies and Showerheads

**Author's Note:**

> TITLE: Fish, Flies and Showerheads  
> AUTHOR: Kat/krazykitkat  
> RATING: NC-17  
> SPOILERS: End of 4th season.  
> DISCLAIMER: The West Wing and its characters are the property of Aaron Sorkin, Warner Brothers, and NBC. No Copyright Infringement is intended. I will put them back slightly disheveled.  
> THANKS: To Athena for editing and support and a title that made more sense to the rest of the world than "Buggered Again". And Angie for so many reasons.  
> DEDICATION: To my Angie. I wouldn't have finished this for anyone but you.  
> Written 2004.

She only raised her head off the arm of the couch when he slammed the french doors closed.

"There was a breeze," she protested.

"It must have been the flapping wings of the three hundred and ninety-nine bugs claiming residency." His mood had deteriorated rapidly on the journey from Andi's, with the rest of DC not being able to remember how to drive through intersections with blacked-out traffic lights. Walking into a swarm hadn't been on the list of things he'd expected when he got home.

"Are their papers in order?"

His chair creaked in protest at his collapse. "Nature stays outside. I stay inside and don't bother it."

"And what happens when Huck and Molly start bringing home little critters?" She sat up, swinging her feet onto the floor and flapping her half-unbuttoned shirt.

"They can bring them home."

"But they'll be sent straight to their mother's?"

A slight raising of eyebrows was enough of an answer.

"What if I want to buy them goldfish?"

Glare.

"You've been in the room with Gail many times and you haven't broken out in hives."

"Yet."

"Toby."

"Fine." He waved his hand, knowing when to cut his losses. "But you're cleaning the bowls, buying the food, and disposing of the bodies."

"And you'll sit Shiva without complaint." She lifted the damp hair off her neck. "Wave your hand again, I think it made a difference."

"The doors stay closed."

"It's hot and stuffy in here."

"You can always go home."

"Come with me." The tilted head and smile he found hard to resist...but not today.

"You'll only open your windows. If I want to be lord of the flies, I'll contact Marbury to arrange it."

She flopped back against the couch. "When the hell is the power going to be back on?"

"When it comes back on and not a second sooner."

"We were supposed to have a nice dinner and then get hot and sweaty. Now I'm just hungry, hot and sweaty, and with nothing to show for it."

"And I'm getting a headache," he grumbled.

"Open the doors and I'll stop complaining."

"You're worse than the twins."

"But I speak in full sentences."

"That's the problem."

CJ undid the remaining buttons and peeled off her blouse, before rolling it up into a ball and launching it at him.

"We're not having sex, CJ," Toby replied, as he dropped the projectile on the floor. "As you've pointed out several times, it's too hot."

"Who said anything about sex?" She stood and slid her slacks down her legs. "I'm trying to cool off."

He loosened his tie.

Kicking her pants away, she laid back down on the couch in her nearly transparent camisole and panties. "How are the twins?"

"Huck cried when the Teletubbies disappeared mid-whatever it is they do." Toby grimaced. "I had to--" No, he wasn't going to admit to it. He glanced at CJ. Too late.

Her large eyes and toothy grin were fixed on him. "Did Andi get the video camera out?"

He decided pretending it never happened was the safest course of action. "I've told Andi they should be watching Sesame Street. How are they going to learn to speak properly?"

"Toby, they're one. Sesame Street is too old for them. They like the repetition of Teletubbies."

"Have you been letting them watch that show in this house?" he growled.

She rolled her eyes. "Only when you're not here."

"CJ!"

"Andi and I meet in dark alleys to swap tapes." CJ turned onto her side and pushed herself up to a sitting position. "We sacrifice Tickle Me Elmo dolls at the altar of Sun Baby." She pulled her camisole off over her head and dropped it on the floor. "We dance naked under the full moon with Tinky Winky and Dipsy." And stood to slide down her panties.

They both glanced down at his lap and he heard her annoyed sigh.

"Those were rather disturbing images, CJ." He looked up to see her hands on her hips and lips pursed. "And it's--"

"Too hot." She waved him off. "I'm going to go and introduce myself to your showerhead."

"You're already on intimate terms." He watched her walk away, her hips swinging more than necessary, drawing his attention to her ass.

Not even a twinge.

Stifling the urge to unzip his pants and check it was still attached, he headed for the kitchen. He fixed a scotch on the rocks, and stood in front of the open freezer door. His ice cream would be in trouble if the power remained off for too much longer, but cooling down was a higher priority.

One of CJ's friends landed on his arm and he ended its night. Three more buzzed around his head and he surrendered the kitchen.

The air upstairs was fresher and slightly cooler. He checked his bedroom for bugs before closing the window most of the way. Kicking off his shoes, he grabbed the scotch from the dresser and entered the bathroom, a diatribe on the etiquette of window opening forming in his brain.

The blood drained south before he even opened his mouth.

One forearm and her head rested against the shower wall; the other hand held the showerhead between her legs, no doubt on massage setting.

He gulped the remains of the glass as his eyes traced the bend of her neck, the line of her back, the curve of her ass. Memories of the first time they--fucked was really the only word for it--fueled his rediscovered libido. Of course it had been she who'd walked in, ranting, on him. And they'd broken the motel shower door.

There'd been one other door and multiple bruises over the years. And even though the chances of throwing out his back were increasing exponentially, he'd never walked away from this. From her.

He undressed quickly and stepped into the shower, pressing against her back.

As his hand slid around her waist, she complained, "What took you so long? I thought the bugs had carried you off."

He pried the showerhead out of her fingers and returned it to its holder on the wall, pointing it just behind him. And slipped his left hand between her legs.

Her head fell against his shoulder, back arching as she pushed down on his fingers. Even though he was hard enough and she was more than wet, he always found more satisfaction somewhere between the friction of her ass against his cock and the low groans in her throat vibrating through his lips.

The heel of his hand rubbed across her clit as her fingers found his balls, her motions matching the rhythm of her orgasm around his fingers. Staying in control at this point was getting more difficult with age. But the expression on her face was worth the occasional misfire.

She slowly wound down to a state of stillness, resting her weight against him. "Now this is the type of hot and sweaty I come for."

Her husky laugh stretched his restraint to the edge. "Bend over," he whispered. He wished that the only two words he usually spoke were more eloquent. But it never seemed to bother her and those eight letters had become a part of this. Of them.

"You said we weren't having sex."

He growled her name as she stroked her nails down his cock before pulling out of his grip. Placing her hands against the shower wall, she glanced at him over her shoulder, a little smirk on her lips. And he admitted, with a little shame, he'd pictured her in this position when the realtor had shown him the bathroom.

One foot slightly in front of the other and knees bent, she leaned forward. The first time had been so raw and fast, in addition to ending in a small accident, he hadn't noticed how she'd compensated for the height difference. She had trouble straightening up the second time but waved off his concern, commenting that most of the world barely reached her shoulder and she had a diploma in adjusting.

Smoothing the palms of his hands over her upper thighs and ass, he was rewarded with her shiver and groan. She wriggled back against his groin and he couldn't hold off another moment.

CJ shifted until her bent arm braced against the wall and her forehead rested against her forearm. He gripped her hips and she tilted them so she could push against him, pulling him in deeper.

It was never anything but hard and fast once they found their rhythm.

The showerhead, still on massage setting, drummed water onto his back. Rivulets ran over his ass, and he groaned as her left hand played between her legs, a fingertip flicking the base of his cock before each thrust.

The running water muffled her whimpers, but he could feel their vibrations through her body and increased his speed. She moaned his name and clenched her muscles around his cock as he tried to withdraw. The unexpected motion, together with a tap from her finger and the strength of her climax, forced him to follow her. His legs wobbled, but somehow she kept him on his feet.

"Ah, Toby?"

It took a few seconds for her words to register above the heavy breathing. "CJ?"

"You're a little hard to hold up."

He finally noticed the strain in her voice and body. "Sorry," he mumbled as he pulled out, slowly enough so he didn't fall, and grabbed her arm to help her straighten up.

CJ stretched her long body as she turned around, joints cracking. "You're getting old."

"You could've warned me." Backing her against the wall, he pinned her wrists level with her head.

"Where's the fun in that?"

He shut up her teasing with a deep kiss. Her foot trailed up the back of his calf and if he'd been younger--

"That the hot and sweaty you came for?" He replaced his lips with a fingertip and her eyes fluttered open.

"Yeah, but I'm even hungrier."

He groaned as her tongue darted out. "You know where the delivery menus are. See if you can find a place that has power." Moving sideways to allow her exit, he lightly smacked her ass. "We'll eat up here."

Grabbing a bath towel off the wall railing, she rolled her eyes. "They're only little bugs."

"I killed a few of their brethren and they're probably plotting revenge."

"But you're happy to let me battle them alone?" Her lips shaped into a playful pout.

"You invited them in. And you're more difficult to carry off." Her frown and raised eyebrow forced him to quickly clarify. "Because of the height."

She wrapped the towel around her chest. "Good save."

His eyes were drawn to the long expanse of bare leg. "You're not answering the door like that."

"I thought a cheap thrill instead of a tip." She leaned back into the shower and ran her nails down his chest. "Or you could answer the door like this--"

He grabbed her hand before she reached any lower.

CJ pulled out of his grip and headed towards the bedroom. "And they'd probably drop our food and run before you could pay."

"Just for that I'm not telling you where the bug spray is," he called after her.

"That's fine. I'll just open the doors."

He ducked his head under the spray, sucked in a deep breath and counted to--he couldn't do it. Shutting off the water, he stepped out of the shower and wiped himself down. In the bedroom, he pulled on sweatpants and a tshirt, before descending the stairs and storming into the living room.

Too late.

"CJ!"

The phone pressed to her ear, she raised her finger to her lips in the universal sign for silence. And shook her head and stood in the way as he attempted to close the french doors. Throwing up his hands, he retreated to the kitchen and poured himself another scotch.

"Twenty minutes. And I'd love a scotch," she yelled out.

He squashed a bug with her glass and grumbled under his breath. After a brief search for a non-existent packet of peanuts, he carried the drinks back out to the living room. And forgot what he was doing.

The world shrunk to the size and shape of her body: long bare legs stretched out on the deck, his Knicks jersey skimming the tops of her thighs, the stretched material of the neck exposing one collarbone. She leaned against the pillar holding up the newly installed retractable covering, her face raised to the darkening sky.

"It's lovely out here." Her low voice and smile brought him back.

He remained just inside and held out the glass.

Rolling her eyes, she patted the wood next to her legs. "There aren't many bugs."

"That's because they're all in here."

"All the more reason for you to come out here with me."

Those puppy dog eyes were impossible to resist. She accepted her drink and pulled her knees up to her chest to allow him to sit.

Deep breath. As he'd suspected, the jersey was the only thing she was wearing. "And you're not answering the door in that either."

She stretched her legs back out over his lap and clinked their glasses together. "That's why you wear the pants."

He could spend his life just watching her. Rolling his glass over her thigh, he asked quietly, "Are they too young for a goldfish?"

Confusion lined her face, followed by surprise and then his favourite expression, a joyous smile, that cliched as it was, lit up her face. "They're never too young. We'll take them Saturday and they can each pick their own."

"One fish, CJ." His frown never made much difference.

Leaning forward, she draped her arm around his shoulders and kissed him. "Whatever you say."


End file.
